


The Stirring Call For Men

by Footloose



Series: Loaded March EXTRAS [18]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Gen, Military
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-11
Updated: 2013-11-11
Packaged: 2018-01-01 05:31:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1040915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Footloose/pseuds/Footloose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While we Remember on this November 11, let us not forget those who continue to fight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Stirring Call For Men

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a thank you for the service of our veterans, current active members, and for the future members of the armed forces for fighting for their countries and the freedom of their people.
> 
> * * *

It was late. That was all Merlin knew. It was dark outside and probably after dinner, sometime. He hadn't been paying attention when the chopper pilot announced the ETA or when Lance asked for the time. Merlin didn't care about that because he didn't know what _day_ it was. He was pretty sure that none of them did.

The _whir-whir-whir_ was a touch too shrill to lull Merlin into a dozing sleep. The faint rotor rumble vibrated through the metal casing and there was no way of getting comfortable enough to actually relax. They were out of the engagement zone, but in the distance, black smoke curled up into the clear night skies, marring the dim lights glowing through the windows of the homes of the people who lived there.

The pilot changed direction and they followed a circular pattern away from the buffering area between the army base and the abandoned ruins where some rebels had set up shop, ready to launch grenades or ground-to-air missiles. They would begin their nightly barrage at some point, if they hadn't already; Merlin couldn't tell if the flashes of light were grenades going off or other military vehicles flying toward base.

The chopper landed with a creak of landing gear and a dust-up of sand. The team disembarked as the rotors slowed down, hunched over low to avoid the downward curve of the blades. Arthur was in the lead, as usual, and from the back of the group, Merlin could hear the exhaustion in Arthur's voice when he said, "Let's get some of this dust off of us and head to the mess tent, yeah? I swear Gwaine's stomach gave away our position more than once."

"I told you, I tried to get brekkie," Gwaine said. "Not my fault the lad in the line was cross with me --"

"Definitely your fault," Owain said. "Didn't you shag him and leave him?"

Gwaine was silent for a few moments. "Might have, though through no fault of my own. Turns out he has a lad waiting for him back home, and he hadn't seen fit to share that detail with me."

"Men are wankers," Merlin caught himself saying. He could feel his cheeks reddening, and he ducked his head before anyone saw. He hadn't exactly outed himself to the group yet, and he didn't plan to, at least not until he'd gotten to know them better. He hadn't been on the team long enough. Sometimes it felt like he'd never be on the team long enough to be really part of them.

"Damn right," Perceval said, coming up next to Merlin. He clamped a hand on Merlin's shoulder, the gesture softened only because there was no way to touch Merlin without accidentally hitting equipment that they would need later.

"Some are worse than others," Leon remarked, glancing over his shoulder at Gwaine.

Gwaine held up his hands. "Oi, I'm the wounded party here."

No one said much on the slow trek through the base to get to their assigned barracks. They might be exhausted, but they weren't oblivious, and it was clear that most of the base had hunkered down for the night. Sure enough, as soon as they dumped their equipment on their bunks and made for the showers, the enemy began their routine bombardment.

Someone in a nearby barracks groaned loud enough to be heard through the plywood-reinforced tent, and sleepily shouted, " _Fuck off already_."

Merlin was sure that everyone in the base shared the sentiment.

It was a good half-hour later before Merlin joined the others in the mess tent, his hair still wet, his shirt hanging over his trousers, his gun hastily strapped to belt and hip. He hadn't bothered with a jacket despite the chill, and he could tell that no one else had, either, because the cold was the only thing keeping them moving right now.

The mess tent operated under a skeleton crew this time of night, feeding whatever soldiers were cycling through. The fare was simple and hearty and on the salty side of bland, but Merlin barely noticed. He was more preoccupied with keeping his head propped up, and when Bohrs sat down next to him, Merlin nearly slipped and fell face-first into his potato mash.

"Sorry, mate," Bohrs said.

"'S all right," Merlin slurred, shaking his head. He regretted not picking up a coffee on his way over, thinking that it would keep him awake. Someone nudged a cup in front of him, and when Merlin blinked awake and looked around to see who it was, he spotted Arthur glancing studiously away as he sat down next to Leon on the other side of the table.

There were some days when Merlin thought he was on good terms with Captain Prat. There were days when he was sure that Arthur hated his guts. And right now, Merlin let himself be warmed by the thought that maybe Arthur _did_ care for him, even if it was in the same way that he cared for every single member of the team.

These days, Merlin would take what he could get.

He took the coffee gratefully. It was lukewarm, tasted of stale beans and the grit of sand that flavoured every meal, but it was sweetened just the way Merlin liked it.

He didn't have the brainpower to wonder how Arthur had known that.

Pellinor sat down directly across from Merlin, his tray clattering on the table. He stared down at the food and blew out his breath before asking the same question that Merlin had been thinking about. "Anyone know what day it is?"

"Uh," Merlin said intelligently.

"Not me," Bohrs said.

"Could be my birthday and I wouldn't know it," Gwaine said. "Not even if a pretty lass sat in my lap --"

"Ugh, too tired for your shite," Lamorak said, waving a white paper napkin in the air in surrender.

"Telly," Bedivere mumbled.

"What about it?" Pellinor asked.

Bedivere rubbed his face with one hand and thumbed over his shoulder at the television set someone had appropriated and installed in the corner of the tent. If Merlin weren't about to pass out despite the coffee, he'd think that Bedivere was just being a petulant kid trying to stay up late to watch his favourite show on the telly. "The telly knows," Bedivere said.

Blearily, half of them raised their heads to look, while the other half twisted around in their seats. 

It must have been a replay of the day's events on the BBC, because they weren't that far outside their country's time zone. On the screen, the sky was bright and blue, a rare cloudless sky in London. They were treated to an overhead shot of the Procession down the city square, at the massive crowds swelling along the pavement, watching the Royal carriage as it was drawn by.

The image faded into another at street level, following the veterans in uniform, their ribbons polished and shining on their chests. They marched down the street at a slow, solemn pace, their gazes fixed at a distant point ahead of them. There was another segue, and a little girl in a pretty, frilly dress carried a poppy wreath nearly as big as she was, depositing it at the base of a statue alongside dozens and dozens of others.

Merlin felt his eyes sting. He remembered putting flowers for his dad, there, once, long ago.

There was no sound coming from the telly -- someone must have turned it off. Merlin wished he could at least hear the music.

" _They were summoned from the hillside,  
_ _They were called in from the glen,  
_ _And the country found them ready  
_ _At the stirring call for men._ "

Merlin turned to look down the length of the table. Lucan stood up, brushing his hands down his frumpy shirt, and raised both brows down the table before continuing on in his crisp tenor. A few of the others took up the song, their voices lighter and softer, twining together into a melody that was both heartfelt and heartbreaking.

" _Let no tears add to their hardships  
_ _As the soldiers pass along,  
_ _And although your heart is breaking,  
_ _Make it sing this cheery song:_ "

The mess tent, already mostly empty, was silent now, and Lucan's voice resonated slow and sure above the rest. In the brief pause, Kay stood up, his deep baritone a rich counterpoint as they both continued on.

" _Keep the Home Fires Burning,  
_ _While your hearts are yearning.  
_ _Though your lads are far away  
_ _They dream of home.  
_ _There's a silver lining  
_ _Through the dark clouds shining,  
_ _Turn the dark cloud inside out  
_ _Till the boys come home._ "

Kay reached for his coffee, and Lucan put a hand on Kay's shoulder as he sang the next part.

" _Overseas there came a pleading,  
_ _"Help a nation in distress."  
_ _And we gave our glorious laddies --  
_ _Honour bade us do no less,  
_ _For no gallant son of Britain  
_ _To a tyrant's yoke shall bend,  
_ _And no Englishman is silent  
_ _To the sacred call of "Friend"._ "

Merlin was no great singer, but he found himself standing up on those last few lines. He'd sung this very song only once, long ago, when he and his Mum had set down the plaque at Balinor's gravesite. The tears were already prickling his eyes as he joined in.

" _Keep the Home Fires Burning,  
_ _While your hearts are yearning.  
_ _Though your lads are far away  
_ _They dream of home.  
_ _There's a silver lining  
_ _Through the dark clouds shining,  
_ _Turn the dark cloud inside out  
_ _'Til the boys come home._ "

The words echoed in the tent, drifting and fading. There was slow applause. Merlin sat down first, his head bowed; he passed a hand over his cheek and pretended that he wasn't wiping away a tear. The others clapped at Lucan's shoulder and gave Kay a good shake, and there were a few quiet murmurs before the others went back to their meals.

"Hey, Merlin," Gwaine said. "Didn't know you could sing outside of the showers."

"Shut it, Gwaine," Merlin muttered, feeling his cheeks go red. Bohrs shouldered him lightly.

They ate in silence that was quickly filled with conversation. Mostly, though, the team ate quickly, still feeling the repercussions of several long days out on assignments, and when they finished, they all put their trays away and headed back to the bunks.

"When's wheels-up?" Lamorak asked.

Gareth started to answer, but his words were muffled by a loud yawn.

"0700," Leon said.

"What time is it now?" Pellinor asked. He lifted his arm up to squint at his watch, but blinked already heavy-lidded eyes several times before giving it up as a fruitless endeavour.

"0130," Leon said.

"Oh," Pellinor said. He grunted. "Thanks, I guess."

"0130? Well, fuckshite," Gwaine muttered.

Merlin nodded in agreement. He was going to have to get up in less than four hours from now to check his equipment and make certain it was functioning properly. His Box had taken a beating during that last gunfight earlier that day -- the day before, Merlin realized. The days had been blurring together lately.

He didn't know how he'd made it into his bunk -- he was certain that someone had shoved him in the right direction, or that he'd blindly followed Gwaine and kept going until he hit the back of the barracks and took a few steps to his bunk. Either way, he was grateful to be horizontal and at least _partially_ under his blanket, listening to the others as they settled on their cots.

He struggled to stay awake just a little longer, and was rewarded with the sound that he heard every night -- Arthur's footsteps as he made last rounds to check on everyone.

There was a pause, and Merlin almost woke up all the way when he realized that those footsteps were coming closer. A hand on his shoulder kept him still, and Arthur's whisper in his ear sent shivers down his spine.

"I promise I'll get you home."

Merlin caught Arthur's hand before he could pull it away, and whispered back, "How about we just get each other home, yeah?"

Arthur squeezed Merlin's arm before sliding off and away.

There was a grumpy murmur from the bunk closest to Merlin's. "Aw, just shag already," Gwaine mumbled, turning over.

**Author's Note:**

> Lyrics are from the 1915 Novello and Ford version of the song, **Keep the Home Fires Burning**. You can read more about it [here](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Keep_the_Home_Fires_Burning_%281914_song%29) (link goes to Wikipedia).
> 
> The title is from a line in the song.


End file.
